


Welcome Home, Hon

by Yamx



Category: White Collar
Genre: Multi, Threesome - F/M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-07
Updated: 2012-01-07
Packaged: 2017-10-29 02:35:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,103
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/314888
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Yamx/pseuds/Yamx
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>"Don't move or I'll shoot!"</i>
</p><p>
  <i>Neal froze, his tongue half-way up Peter's clavicle.</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	Welcome Home, Hon

**Author's Note:**

  * For [lionessvalenti](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lionessvalenti/gifts).



> Thanks to Canaan for the beta!

"Don't move or I'll shoot!"

Neal froze, his tongue half-way up Peter's clavicle. He didn't turn from where he was kneeling on the Burkes' bed.

Peter's voice was calm and in control. "Come on, kid. You don't want to do this."

 _Kid?_ Who the hell...?

"I'm not going to hurt you! I just want money!" There was a sharp edge of panic in the voice.

Panic and guns were a terrible mix.

The afternoon had started so well. Peter had finally returned from a four-week seminar in Quantico. Neal hadn't been allowed to attend, of course, nor had there been a good reason to visit—not one anyone in power at the FBI could know about, at any rate. El had flown down a few times, but Neal hadn't seen Peter in a month.

Which explained why, when he finally came home, neither of them had remembered to lock the front door.

"I'll give you money." Peter's voice was soothing. "Just put down the gun."

Neal half-turned his head to see their assailant. "Kid" was right—he looked barely eighteen. Deep rings under bloodshot eyes, clammy skin, and a pronounced tremor in his hands—everything about him screamed "drug addict jonesing for a hit." And he was pointing a gun at them. Neal felt profoundly grateful that El was still at work.

"I'm not–" The kid coughed. "I'm not going to put it down! Where's your money?"

"It's in the safe," Peter said, hands raised placatingly. "In my office."

The gun safe. Peter hadn't taken his Glock to Virginia—he hated the hassle of taking it on a plane, and he'd said if he should need one while he was there, he could borrow one easily enough. He was trying to get the kid to let them go to the gun safe.

Well, two guns wouldn't make the situation less volatile. But if there were going to be guns, Neal would rather at least one of them was in the hands of Special Agent Peter Burke.

But the gun would be unloaded and secured. Neal would have to create a distraction, play for time so Peter could—

The kid's eyes shot back and forth between them. He was biting his bottom lip. Clearly, he realized that moving two grown men through their home territory had the potential to go terribly wrong. But neither could he leave either one of them out of his sight.

"Knock him out!" the kid bellowed, gesturing at Neal with the gun.

"What?" For the first time, Peter raised his voice.

"Knock him unconscious." His eyes snapped to Neal. "And if I think you're faking, I'll just shoot you."

This was bad. Really bad. Clearly the kid had no idea how to properly and safely conduct a crime. At this rate, all three of them would end up dead. Neal sighed inwardly. _We'd all be safer if crime had its own Quantico._

Peter looked at Neal, his eyes asking for ideas. Neal shrugged. He needed time.

"Do it! I'll shoot him."

"Freeze." El appeared in the doorway. "I'm pointing my husband's gun at you. And believe me, I know how to use it." Her voice sounded perfectly pleasant. Neal had to admire a convincing lie.

The kid threw a quick glance over his shoulder. "Fuck! Lady, if you don't want me to shoot your husband and his queer lover, get out of here."

"He's _our_ queer lover, and you're the one who's getting out of here." Neal had heard this tone before—it was how El talked to suppliers trying to wheedle for extensions.

"If you wanna play rough, you goddamn fucking b—" The kid took a step sideways, trying to get them all into his field of vision.

He wasn't fast enough. Peter had him pinned to the floor before the boy could finish the curse. "You don't talk that way to my wife." The kid struggled and tried to buck him off, but Neal had seen stronger men struggle in Peter's grasp. The kid was toast.

Neal looked at El. She'd lowered her arms so the barrel was now pointing at the floor a few feet in front of her, but her hands were so tight around the gun that her knuckles were stark white. Her index finger was trembling on the trigger. "Someone please take it from me."

Neal looked at Peter. Peter gave him a brief nod.

"It's all right, El." Neal got off the bed and stepped towards her, careful to move slowly. He wrapped his hands around hers, stroking softly. "You were great." He gently guided El's index finger out of the trigger guard and helped her uncurl her trembling hands.

"You were more than great, honey." Peter was tying the perp up with El's bathrobe belt—his cuffs were probably still in the safe. "You were amazing." He smiled at her proudly.

El shook her head, her hands still trembling. Neal didn't blame her--she'd never pointed a gun at anything living before. "Look at him!" Her voice sounded rough.

The kid was lying on the floor, crying in big, heaving sobs. He looked like a twelve-year-old now. Neal felt a pang of pity. He reminded himself that this boy would very likely have shot at least one of them if El hadn't saved the day.

"He's a child! He's young enough to be my son, and I could have _killed_ him. I would have, to protect—" She faltered. "I almost killed him!"

"Hon—" Peter looked to Neal, panic in his eyes. He'd never been good with tears.

Neal put the gun in the waistband of his jeans and gently cupped El's face with both hands. He kissed her forehead. "No, you didn't."

El cocked her head.

Neal smiled. "El, sweetie, you are capable at many things. Guns aren't one of them." Personally, he thought that was a good thing. He hated guns.

A corner of Peter's mouth twitched. "She didn't take the safety off?"

"No." Neal bit his tongue.

The kid looked around. "The hell? Fu-uck..." He slammed his forehead into the floor.

That did it. Peter started laughing, and Neal was swept along. El stared at them both for a moment, speechless, then she pressed her hands to her mouth and giggled.

Neal kissed her quivering lips. "You subdued an armed drug addict with the power of an ugly lump of metal. Good going."

Peter grinned. "Neal, call the LEOs. I want this kid out of our house so we can get back to my Welcome Home party."

El licked her lips. "Sounds like fun."

And it was.

The End


End file.
